With You In Spirit
by Ariyah
Summary: It's their first Christmas without Dad, but he's not totally gone from them either. Inspired by Bing Crosby's "I'll Be Home for Christmas". Pre-LWW (Christmas 1940, to be historically correct). By Ariel of Narnia.
1. Christmas Eve Will Find Him

**Disclaimer: **I think the only things I own in here are the candles. And maybe the tree that will show up later.

**Author's Note: **This is totally unrelated to WillowDryad's "If Only In My Dreams" (which, by the way, is worth reading). Though I will say I made a wee reference to her story "Socks" and if you haven't read it yet, you really need to.

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"'… This war will end soon and I'll be home when it does. Until then, I'm with you in spirit. Be strong. My love and God's blessings upon you all. Dad.'"

Peter picked at the carpet absently. He should have known. He had known. Of course he had. He should have believed it. Lucy curled closer to him, pinning his arm to his side. _"Be strong."_ That's what Dad had said. He freed his arm and wrapped it around Lucy's shoulders. He looked up at Susan, sitting in a chair close to Mum, her eyes barely focused on her knitting. He swiveled his head in the other direction toward the bay window where Edmund hugged his knees and stared at the falling snow. Peter turned back to Mum just in time to see her scratch at the corner of her eye – her way of disguising the wiping away of a tear. The letter trembled in her hand as she folded it and tucked it back into its envelope.

Lucy's arm curled tighter around her stuffed dog. "He promised."

Susan's knitting needles finally began to click audibly. "He didn't actually," she answered quietly.

Didn't he promise? Peter was sure he had. Maybe he just remembered it wrong. Edmund shifted in the window seat and Mum rubbed at her other eye. So maybe it was Susan who didn't remember it right. Peter hugged Lucy closer and silence fell again, punctuated only by the ticking of the clock and the subsiding click of the knitting needles. Peter watched as the needles wove red yarn around the grey sock in Susan's lap and he wondered if Dad was somewhere warm. Did he have enough to eat? Was he still safe? What was Christmas Eve like for him? And more importantly, would he someday come home for another Christmas?

_"Don't worry about me, Peter. You're the man of the family now, so keep a stiff upper lip, there's a good lad, and take care of them for me." _That's what Dad had said. Peter shook himself and looked at the clock. Mum hadn't moved except to finger the envelope and pretend not to cry. Susan's knitting had nearly come to a stop. Edmund had at some point leaned against the window. Peter looked back down at Lucy, still tucked under his arm, crushing her stuffed dog against her chest. Finally, Peter stirred and shook Lucy a little. "Come on, time for bed." He used the couch to help himself up. Lucy's blue eyes followed him up as he did so, then the rest of her followed suit and she took his hand. "The sooner we go to bed, the sooner Father Christmas will come."

Lucy offered a little smile at his insincere brightness, though the smile didn't reach her eyes. Susan wrapped up her knitting and seemed about to answer, but then thought better of it. Edmund didn't. "There's no such person as Father Christmas," he said, but he showed no resistance to the idea of heading off to bed.

Each of them, even Edmund, kissed Mum goodnight and crept upstairs, so absorbed in their own thoughts that they merely mumbled their goodnights to each other. Edmund didn't even protest when Peter turned out the light. Though relieved by the change, Peter decided to light the candle anyway. At least for tonight. Not that Edmund thanked him for it, of course. In fact, he didn't fall asleep as quickly as he normally did; he sighed and turned every few minutes. Peter considered telling him to stop, but he bit his tongue, turned his back to Edmund, and drifted off to sleep.

*.*.*

The picture was hazy at first, but it slowly came into focus. He didn't know what army barracks looked like, but he did know what a room at Hendon House looked like. This room was like that, but bigger, easily the size of the living room downstairs. Of course, the décor was less than Spartan and the bunks less inviting than anything Peter had ever seen, but the men occupying that room – seven, Peter counted – didn't seem to notice. They were grouped together in the middle of the room, laughing and telling stories Peter couldn't hear. A cheery glow filled the room, but Peter couldn't tell where it came from.

He began to hear the men, as though someone had turned up the volume on the radio. They noticed him and waved him over, offering him a spot on a bunk. One of them produced a tin cup brimming with weak tea – from where, Peter didn't know – and offered it to him. Just as he took it in his hands, the door opened and a cheer erupted from the group. "Hey, Pevensie!"

The man who entered was maybe a little greyer than Peter remembered, but unmistakably Dad. He held up a Red Cross package jovially, bringing another cheer from his comrades, and took his seat beside Peter. Dad didn't seem at all surprised to see him; if anything, he seemed to have expected his presence. He handed the Red Cross package to Peter as though it was a gift meant for him. Peter opened it and his eyes widened, for there at the top of the package, were two bars of chocolate. He pulled them out, eliciting yet another cheer from the men, and handed them to Dad.

From there, the events blended into one another – passing the chocolate, telling more stories, replenishing his cup with strong Red Cross tea – until the men bundled into their bunks and blew out candles Peter was very sure weren't there before.

Only one candle still burned, and that was Dad's. Dad reached behind Peter and pulled back the covers. "Into bed now, there's a good lad," Dad said. "Tomorrow's Christmas and we all know what that means." Peter handed him his empty cup and crawled into the bunk, which he noticed had grown larger and softer.

"Dad?" Peter asked drowsily. "When are you coming home?"

The yellow glow of the candle lit up a gentle smile. "Remember what I said? I'm with you in spirit."

Peter could barely keep his eyes cracked open at the figure hunched over him. "Dad?"

Blankets were pulled up to his chin. "It's me, Peter, I'm here. Go back to sleep."

That sounded more like Mum, but Peter didn't argue.

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	2. Snow and Mistletoe

**Author's Note:** I must say, playing with very young versions of Peter and Susan was fun. Even if Susan's Christmas focus is misplaced (not saying family isn't a great thing, don't get me wrong). And there's another flitting reference to WillowDryad's "Socks" in this one. (Seriously, Willow, why'd you have to make that story so good? :-D )

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Susan pulled on her slightly-too-small nightgown with a puff of frustration. Of course Edmund would repeat her mantra of "There is no Father Christmas" and tonight of all nights too. Right when it would hurt most to hear it. Susan forced herself out of it. Edmund was hurting just as much as the rest of them, she knew, even if he tried not to show it. She straightened Lucy's clothes over the back of a chair and watched her sister play with the ear of her stuffed dog. Susan sighed and sat beside Lucy on her bed.

Lucy leaned her head against Susan's shoulder. "What should we do with Dad's present?"

"I guess we'll just have to wait till he comes home to give it to him."

"Should we wait to open ours too?"

"Why would we do that?" Susan asked, even though the answer rang loud and clear in her mind. "Dad wouldn't want us to wait. It's Christmas. He'd tell us to celebrate Jesus' birthday, just like we've celebrated our birthdays without him."

"But it's still not Christmas without Dad." Lucy hid her pout behind her dog and sniffled.

"Oh, Lucy…." Susan pulled her into a hug and choked back her own emotions. "I know. But he's probably going to have Christmas too." She didn't really know that. He might be crossing enemy lines – or already across them, or worse – for all she knew.

Lucy wiped her tears against the dog's cheek. "Will he?"

"Sure he will. You'd be sad if he didn't, right?"

Lucy nodded without hesitation.

"Well, he'd want us to have Christmas too," Susan concluded with an inner sigh of relief. "With the Christmas story and presents and plum pudding. Come on, we should sleep." Lucy smiled – a small, but real smile, not like the one she'd given Peter earlier – and wriggled down until her head reached the pillow. Susan tucked her in and returned a smile that she hoped meant more than she felt. She lit the candle and flipped the light switch, then retreated to her bed with a little shiver. Maybe she should knit another pair of socks for herself after she finished Peter's; Edmund had a better affinity for the cold anyway. Why was it always so cold in winter? She curled into a loose ball and hugged her arms to her chest.

*.*.*

She remembered this scene, a much younger version of Peter and herself crowded on Dad's lap in front of the window of their old house. The weather outside that window had been exactly like tonight's: snow drifting daintily down and the cold anything but dainty. Unlike tonight, though, the scene of her memory was so much warmer. Perhaps it was because they were seated so close to the fireplace or because they were draped over with a blanket.

"'And the angel said unto them,'" Dad read from the Bible in his hands, "'Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.'"

This was always her favourite part of Christmas. It gave her the coziest feeling inside. Through the eyes of her younger self, Susan watched as Peter tried to follow along as Dad continued to read. He was, of course, too young to pick up much of it, but that didn't seem to deter him. She snuggled in closer to Dad and watched Mum knit a blue stripe on a tiny grey sock for the then-soon-coming Edmund.

"'And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us. And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger.'"

Mum got up, slowly, and headed to the kitchen to fetch hot cocoa. Dad held his finger up to his lips and gently coaxed the children off his lap. He pulled a sprig of mistletoe from the mantelpiece and hid behind the door, still signalling for silence. Peter and Susan giggled. Mum returned with the mugs and didn't notice that Dad had crept up behind her until he waved the mistletoe in front of her eyes. Both of the children let out a triumphant laugh at Mum's surprise, though Peter slapped his hands over his eyes when Mum and Dad kissed.

Susan didn't care about the plum pudding or the tree or the presents, even if she did like them. That very moment wrapped together everything she loved best about Christmas. Maybe that's why she remembered Christmases being so warm.

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	3. Presents on the Tree

**Author's Note:** We swears on the precious we weren't trying to make another "Socks" reference! We didn't even realize we had till a few minutes after we'd written that part! WillowDryad has indoctrinated us. But while you're at it, you might as well read it if you haven't already... :-D

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Lucy didn't know what woke her. Was it Christmas morning? Christmas morning! What if she had actually awoken before Edmund this year? She ought to grab the bell before he did! But then she remembered: Christmas this year meant that Dad wasn't home. She bit her lip and hugged her dog close. She wouldn't cry. Not after agreeing to enjoy Christmas without Dad.

"Susan?" she whispered. Susan didn't budge. Lucy crawled out from under her covers and approached Susan's bed. "Susan?" Nothing. Not even a change in breathing.

Lucy stood there for a minute, dog pressed to her chest, before she decided that she wouldn't try joining Susan. And it was probably too soon to ring the bell. It might not even be morning yet. She shuffled back to her bed, but found it uninviting. She tried to coax herself back to sleep, but not even her dog provided the comfort she needed. She threw off the covers, slid her feet into her slippers, and tiptoed out into the hallway.

She considered going back for the candle until she saw the candle glow from the boys' room. She could do this. She would. Dad would be so proud of her. She spirited down the hall, missing all but one of the creaking floorboards, and opened the door to Mum's room. It was too dark to see, but Lucy knew exactly where the bed was. She crawled in and, not three seconds later, felt Mum's arm encompass her waist and tug her closer. Lucy squirmed in obligingly. She fell asleep with her dog's ear between her fingers.

*.*.*

The first thing she heard was the distant tinkling of a bell. At first, Lucy was content to let it continue, but when she realized that it wouldn't stop, she opened her eyes. There, standing above her, was Dad, all crinkle-eyed and alight with a wide smile. In his hand was the little golden bell, still tinkling cheerfully away, though it sounded far more distant than it should. She rocketed up with a cry of glee, but not quickly enough, for Dad was already out the door and into the hallway.

Lucy didn't bother with slippers. She dashed out after him, but he was already halfway down the stairs, still ringing the bell. She swung herself with impossible ease around the corner and onto the railing before she even noticed that Dad was waiting at the bottom to catch her. Down she whizzed into his open arms, but the moment they made contact, she found herself held aloft by the hat tree instead. A cheery chuckle and the sweet dinging of the bell came from the living room, into which Dad's shadow disappeared. She laughed along and tumbled off the hat tree.

As silently as a cat stalking its prey, Lucy slipped over to the living room door and peeked in, letting out a gasp of wonder: an old man in a holly-bright jacket pulled a present as tall as himself from a sack that couldn't have fit through the bay windows, much less the chimney. Caught, he turned to look at her, but the spectacles couldn't hide the recognizable twinkle in his eye. "Dad!" She ran to him, but tripped on her trailing nightgown. By the time she stood up again, he had disappeared.

Lucy looked around, wondering where his new hiding place was. Unable to find him though, she concentrated on the massive present. She picked at a fold in the paper, then tore at it. Whatever was inside helped her tear off the wrapping. "Dad!" she cried again, clapping her hands.

"Merry Christmas, Lucy." He waved off the last of the wrapping and proffered another present, much smaller.

Lucy beamed up at him and untied the ribbon. She lifted the lid from the little box and found a hug and a kiss inside. How she knew what they were, she didn't know, for she'd never seen a hug or kiss in dormancy before. She looked up to thank Dad, but he was gone again. With a gasp, she spun around and dropped the box in her haste. "Dad?" Something enveloped her from behind, something big and strong and warm and comforting. A satisfied "mmm" was all she could say. The dormant kiss floated up from the box and planted itself on her cheek.

"I love you, Lucy."

Lucy turned to watch a hand close the living room door. "I love you too."

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(PS: Want to find out what the bell is all about? Stay tuned for more!)


	4. Planning on Him

Edmund stared at the ceiling and twiddled his thumbs. How long had it been since Mum had readjusted Peter's blankets? Hours? He sure hoped so, even though he doubted such luck. The candle flickered a little and Edmund sighed for what had to be the few-hundredth time. He would make no mention of it at all to Peter in the morning, but he really was thankful for the little flame's company. Less lonely that way.

And yet, still not enough to really take the ache away. He didn't care what Susan said. Dad _had_ promised to be home for Christmas. The war was supposed to be over by now, everyone had said so. At least he had a letter, something to show that Dad was still out there. Other boys weren't so lucky. And then there was Westwood. Edmund hated him. The lucky blighter still had his father at home.

Edmund rolled onto his side with a huff, but after hours of turning about, his sheets had been twisted out of place and were now uncomfortable. He sat up and yanked them about in frustration. Frustration at the sheets, at Westwood, at Christmas. At Dad. The fight drained out of him – and just as well, for not even the sheets could have known left from right. Edmund sat huddled in a ball, hardly noticing how much cooler it was outside of his covers. He hated the war. Hated that Dad had enlisted. Hated that Dad wasn't home.

But even his jealous hatred of his schoolmate and disappointment over Dad's absence had to end some time and he soon tired of pouting into his knees. He debated with himself over what he ought to do next until he at last swung his feet off the bed and onto the floor. He questioned himself again, but only briefly, before he stole out into the hall. With expert ease, he avoided every creaky step until he reached the door at the end. He inched the door open a little further than it already was and softly approached his destination. He reached out his hands in the dark and almost immediately brushed against hair. Straight hair. Lucy.

So. She had beaten him to Mum. Though he felt no surprise at all, Edmund tried to shrug off the feeling of disappointment. After all, he was older than Lucy. And a boy at that. What boy his age sought the comfort of Mum and Dad's bed anymore? Lucy stirred a little and he snuck back out, softly closing the door on his way out.

He stood in silence for a minute outside Mum's door before a spark of competition gave rise to a wee flame. If Lucy had beaten him to Mum, she jolly well was not going to beat him to the bell. Not that she would have, anyway. No one in the history of Christmases could be more determined in getting to that bell and he, for one, was planning on a life-long record.

Grinning to himself, he made his silent way back down the hall, then down the stairs every bit as softly. Then, no longer caring about creaking floorboards – except for the especially loud one – he bounded toward the living room with doe-like grace. He shut the door and squinted so the light wouldn't blind him when he flipped the switch. It worked, of course, and he began his search for the little golden bell. It would be on the tree as always, but he couldn't remember where he'd seen it last – aha! Clever Peter thought he could hang it on a branch just barely within reach. Clutching his prize to his chest, Edmund switched off the lights again and returned to his room precisely the way he had come.

In the candlelight, the bell gleamed in his hand. Carefully, so as not to make any noise, he turned it over and over in his hand, playing with the reflection. Kind of like the way he had when Dad had first set the bell in his hand. Edmund's sleepless night and little escapade suddenly caught up to him. He tucked the bell under his pillow and fell asleep with his fingers still wrapped around its handle.

*.*.*

His world was bursting with vibrant colours, from the hats and scarves of the carolers to the table set with festive trimmings to the tree adorned with something like great jewels. Candlelight flooded the house almost as brightly as daylight. Expectant stockings hung over a crackling fire, waiting, just as the tree was, for the arrival of Father Christmas.

Edmund heard the front door open and close, then boots stomping in the entryway. He got up – and was surprised at how small he seemed – but the race was weighted against him in the forms of Peter and Susan, even if they were much, much smaller than they ought to be. At least there was a benefit to falling behind: whomever got there first had to make room for whomever came after. And that usually meant more attention for the latter. Without any regard for what might be in his way, Edmund flung himself at Dad.

"Whoa, it's the silent killer!" Dad laughed, pulling his arm away from Peter and engulfing Edmund in the folds of his greatcoat. A giggle came out of the living room and toward them. "And there's my little girl!" Dad added, letting go of Susan and scooping both Edmund and Lucy up off the floor. Then addressing all four of them, Dad said, "You'll never guess what I brought home today."

And he wouldn't tell them. Or perhaps they were all throwing so many guesses at him that he couldn't get a word in edgewise. He took them back to the living room and set Edmund and Lucy down on the sofa. Peter plopped down next to Edmund and Susan set herself on the other side of Lucy. They all waited impatiently while Dad took off his coat, gave Mum a kiss, and enquired about her day, but at last, he knelt before them and produced a small package from his coat pocket. He pulled off the brown paper wrapping and lifted the lid with a flourish.

Edmund felt his jaw drop at the same time he saw Susan held back Lucy's little hand. "You all know what this means, right?" Edmund and Peter nodded vigorously; Susan nodded too, but less painfully.

"Pretty," Lucy cooed, obviously the only one who didn't grasp the significance of events.

"We're going to do it just like I told you about how I did it growing up." Dad lifted the shining golden bell from its resting place and his eyes fairly danced. Edmund wriggled with delight. Dad let them handle the bell, setting it first in Edmund's open hand. "You remember how it works, right?"

Edmund snapped his head up. Everything was the same except that he was now his proper age and alone in the living room. That and Dad's voice had suddenly grown small and distant. "Ring it loud, ring it clear…," Edmund began, still searching for Dad's voice.

"… because Christmas is here," he and Dad said in unison.

Edmund eyes rested on the photograph by the bay window. The one of Dad in his uniform. The face in the picture smiled and said, "That's right, son. Do me proud."

Edmund scrambled toward the picture and snatched it up. Too late, for the photograph had reverted back to its original state except for a twinkle in Dad's eye. Edmund held the golden bell close and declared most solemnly, "I'll ring it so loud and so clear, you'll hear it wherever you are."

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**Author's Note: **Oh dear, didn't I explain the bell? No? Well, I promised an explanation. I'll give it in chapter 6, which will wrap up this puppy. :-)

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	5. Where the Love Light Gleams

**Some credit goes to: **GoFish's song "Clover Leaf Park" for mucho inspiration and for being the source of two lines at the end.

**Some thanks to the following movies for some history help** (yes, I know, I ought to be ashamed of myself)**: **  
Captain America: The First Avenger  
Molly: An American Girl on the Home Front  
Anne of Green Gables: The Continuing Story

**Dedication: **I think it's only right to dedicate this chapter to my parents. :-)

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Helen had been acutely aware of a presence other than Lucy's in the room, but was that a few seconds ago or several minutes ago? Who had it been? Edmund, most likely. She had seen him earlier when she read the letter. He was just less open about it than Lucy. And he would have retreated the moment he saw that someone else was already with her. Susan wouldn't have, even at her age. Peter wouldn't have come in at all; it was a wonder he even stirred when she had fixed his covers.

Helen drowsily reached over and tucked a strand of Lucy's hair behind her ear. It was hard for all of them, not having William home, but surely they understood. Some things couldn't be helped. But she was going to help them enjoy this Christmas as best as she could. She knew from experience that Christmas itself never changed, no matter whose absence affected the occasion. Why should it change? It was still about Someone Who was, is, and is to come.

Even if it would be nice to have another certain someone to share it with.

*.*.*

She found herself amongst strange and wholly unexpected company. Most of them were young women, beautiful and dressed in sparkling dance uniforms. And American. Why American? Helen had no idea. The only thing she knew was that she was grateful to be dressed in a smart combination of blue and tan, even if the blue was a good deal brighter than she would have liked. She found herself herding the American dancers toward a stage. The music started up and the dancers began their routine.

Helen turned to leave them. Only then did she notice the soldiers gathered on the lawn – which was unrealistically green and alive in the midst of all the war equipment, mud, and general winter. Hundreds of them. She bypassed them all and headed to the mess tent, in which the only evidence of cheer were the candles the troupe had brought. Someone passed her an apron and a knife and directed her to bushels of potatoes.

Though she probably spent a great amount of time preparing the meal with the mess hall staff, she forgot about it all as soon as she became part of the serving line. Plate after plate she filled, face after face she smiled at and bade a merry Christmas. She didn't know how many she went through before –

"Merry Christmas, Helen."

She dropped the serving spoon, ran around the counter, and launched into his arms. Nearby soldiers cheered and applauded, but she didn't notice. When they pulled apart, she somehow ended up with a plate in her hand and someone – or possibly several someones – playfully shooed them out.

The night was balmy enough for a walk and cool enough to seek warmth from each other. Snow began to fall in clumps, but they only continued to circle the camp arm-in-arm until they laughed at how covered in snow they had become. They finally came to a stop under a lantern hanging behind the mess tent.

"Remember our first Christmas?" he asked.

"That wasn't our first Christmas and you know that," she responded with a smile.

He smiled back and leaned toward her. "Close enough." She directed her smile at the ground until he took both of her hands in his. "What colour are your eyes?" he asked.

"Stop it," she said, but raised her eyes to meet his anyway.

"It's too dark to be sure," he said, coming in closer.

She leaned in too. "No it's not."

"Mm, you're right."

It was just like the night of their first kiss.

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	6. If Only In My Dreams

**Dedication:** To the soldiers away from home and their families.

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The morning began with a rigorous ringing and a shout of "Ring it loud, ring it clear, because Christmas is here! Come on, wake up!" Helen stretched her arms and smiled sleepily. As expected, Edmund was ringing the little golden bell with gusto on this the one morning in the year he was determined to awaken before the entire household. He obviously inherited the thrill of forcing everyone awake early on Christmas morning from his father.

Lucy shot up in bed and immediately began to bounce and clap her hands together. She hadn't been able to beat Edmund to the bell yet, but she was always the first to awaken once it rang. She was like a miniature sun with her bright disposition and incredible energy levels. When she tired of bouncing, she rocked back and forth to further expel her rush of excitement. By then, Peter had entered and Edmund had joined Lucy on the bed, still ringing the bell.

Peter looked properly disheveled and slightly annoyed, but in reality, no less eager for Christmas. He made a grab at Edmund, but the latter only dodged away and rang the bell harder. Peter knelt by the bed with his elbows propped up upon it until he realized that he was in a position to be deafened by the bell.

Susan entered last, tying her housecoat about her waist, her face fresher than Peter's and her hair neatly tucked into a braid. She sat on Helen's other side, frowning a little when Edmund's bell came too close, but the joy of Christmas soon lit up her face with a smile. It was her near-motherly hand that herded out the others so Helen could rise and pull on her housecoat.

Down the stairs the children thundered. Edmund still rang the bell till they were seated by the Christmas tree. Susan did the honours of passing gifts to their recipients, starting with Helen's. The room soon filled with the tearing of paper and oohs and ahhs and chattering. When they had settled down and set their new things aside, Peter reached for the family Bible on the side table. "And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed…."

Like a ghost unobserved, William leaned back in his chair and smiled. This was Christmas.

The dream ended with the abrupt tones of the wake-up call.

*.*.*

It was dark before William could finish the account of the first Christmas. Dark and past lights-out. But his comrades didn't mind and neither did he. He knew it by heart just as clearly as he knew his family's faces. And there was no way he was having Christmas without remembering the Advent. No matter where he was. Even if he could only dream of having Christmas with his family back in Finchley, these men were his brothers and this was the one tradition he refused to lose.

He stood beside his bunk and recited into the dark. "Then [Simeon] took [Jesus] up in his arms, and blessed God, and said, 'Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, according to Thy word: For mine eyes have seen Thy salvation, Which Thou hast prepared before the face of all people; A light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of Thy people Israel.'"

This was Christmas and he was content.

* * *

Merry Christmas and may God bless you and yours as He carries into the new year!

All Scripture used in this fic are from Luke 2.

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PS: A friend shared with me a little something C.S. Lewis wrote concerning Christmas and it's a _very_ good read. (Remove the spaces from the following link.) physhbournes-sundries. blogspot. ca/2009/12/xmas-and-christmas-lost-chapter-from. html


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